


Action Painting

by tessykins



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College, Clubbing, Frottage, Kink Meme, M/M, Plot What Plot, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessykins/pseuds/tessykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt at the <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/">inception kink meme</a>:</p><p>Arthur's friends are convinced he doesn't have enough fun and talk him into attending the DayGlow party at a local club. While trying to blend in at the bar, Arthur sees the hot TA--Eames--that he had a crush on the previous semester walking toward him, his bare torso already smeared with body paint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Action Painting

Paint was flying everywhere like some sort of demented Jackson Pollack. Neon flying up from drums and shot from cannons in bright blasts of color. People with squeeze bottles shooting them off, streams of paint splattering over the crowd.

Bass was pounding in Arthur’s ears, sweat sliding down his back. Some pop remix was blasting from the club speakers, bouncing off the concrete walls of the club. The crowd of dancers rolled like waves, white clothes and tan skin under the black lights. Arthur couldn’t really believe he was in the middle of all this. He desperately wanted to cut and run; the alcohol singing in his blood and Ariadne’s arm hot and sweaty around his waist the only things keeping him at the new club’s opening event.

Well, almost.

About ten minutes ago, Arthur spotted Eames across the club. Eames the deliciously gorgeous TA Arthur had had a crush on all last semester. The kind of crush that led to uncontrollable blushing and inconvenient erections and sharpness to cover it all up. And now Eames was here, shirtless and covered in neon splashes of paint. Arthur wanted to leave but he also wanted to ogle some more.

And then Arthur caught sight of Eames making his way across the floor. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. There were those broad shoulders; the corded arms he wanted holding him down; the lush smirking lips; the gray blue eyes…looking directly at Arthur.

“Ariadne,” he said, his throat dry.

Ariadne looked up and then over her shoulder. “Holy shit,” she said. She let go of him and spun around. “That’s Eames.”

Arthur nodded silently. His flight response kicked in and he stepped back a pace but the surge of the crowd pushed back against him, pushed him forward even.

Eames grinned at them both. “Hello, lovelies.” He looked back at Arthur, eyes filling with a banked heat. “I remember you. You were in my class last semester. Arthur, right?”

Arthur fought the urge to just gape at Eames. “Yeah,” he said. “And you’re Eames.”

Eames’ grin grew wider. “Of course you remember me,” he said. He turned that cocky, charming grin on Ariadne. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Ariadne let out a bark of laughter and Arthur flushed. “Uh, no,” he said. “This is my friend Ariadne.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eames said, raising his voice to be heard as the music spiked. “Do you mind if I steal your friend for a while? Catch up on the old times of last semester and all that?”

Ariadne shook her head, a conspiratorial grin lurking at the corners of her lips. “No, go ahead. I’ll go find Dom.” Her grin turned positively filthy. “You two enjoy yourselves now.” She disappeared into the heaving crowd, waving behind her.

Left alone with Eames, finally, Arthur almost wanted to beg Ariadne to stay. He was anxious, terrified; his heart was pounding in his chest.

Eames hooked two fingers into the belt loops of the jeans Arthur’d worn to save his tailored slacks. He tugged Arthur toward him. “Dance with me?”

Arthur licked his lips nervously. “Yeah,” he said.

Eames’ smile was relieved as he slid a large hand around Arthur, resting it at the small of his back. Arthur sighed and melted against him. One of Eames’ thighs slid between Arthur’s, the muscled width spreading his legs. Arthur resolutely did not think about that, about how much bigger Eames was than him, about how insanely hot that was. Eames other hand palmed Arthur’s hip, fingers dwarfing the bone.

Arthur slid his hands up Eames’ chest, feeling the smattering of his chest hair. He finger painted in neon smears.

The music changed, beat throbbing and Eames met Arthur’s eyes. The bass pulsed through Arthur’s body and he pressed against Eames’ body, hips swaying. Eames choked back a groan and his hand slipped down to Arthur’s ass; he grabbed tightly, pulling Arthur up the width of his thigh.

Arthur moaned and dropped his head back, exposing the length of his throat.

Eames groaned and tucked his head in the crook of Arthur’s neck and shoulder. Then he started talking in that voice; that low, gravelly voice that ruined Arthur’s concentration in every study session. “I noticed you last semester. Couldn’t help but notice you. You’re lovely, Arthur.”

Arthur absolutely did not make a girly noise and grind against Eames’ thigh. Eames chuckled, using his grip on Arthur’s hips to spin him around, pressing them back to front. There was a strong arm wrapped around Arthur’s waist and a heated body pressed against his spine. They swayed together, Eames half-hard against his ass. Arthur reached back to wrap a hand around the back of Eames’ neck.

Eames slipped a hand up under Arthur’s thin tshirt. Arthur gasped and his stomach twitched under his fingertips. Eames lips grazed against his ear, breath hot and damp. “I’d see you in class, sitting there in your perfectly tailored pants and waistcoats, and all I’d want to do was defile you. I wanted to stretch you out over my desk and fuck you till you screamed.”

Arthur ground back hard. “I barely got through that class because of you.” He turned around to face Eames again. He was hard, pressing against his zipper. “I couldn’t stop staring at you, at your arms, at your mouth. And then you’d start talking and I’d just sit there hard and aching.”

Eames grinned, teeth sharp and glinting in the black lights. He looked down at Arthur’s shirt, once white and now randomly smeared with color. He ran gentle fingers under the shirt and over Arthur’s skin, slowly pushing the shirt up and over his head. Arthur let the shirt drop to the floor, immediately forgotten.

They pressed together, bare chest to chest. Paint slicked between them, smearing with sweat. Arthur was a mirror image of Eames, the bright colors transferring. An instant post-modern masterpiece made by the heat of their bodies.

Arthur looked down at his painted chest and gave up on propriety for the night. He wrapped his hand around the back of Eames’ neck, fingernails digging in, and dragged him into a kiss. Eames sucked at his lower lip before licking softly into his mouth. Arthur huffed out a frustrated breath and took control. It was harsh, slick, hot. Arthur bit at Eames’ lush lower lip as he pulled away for air. Eames obviously had no such need as he immediately started pressing wet, sucking kisses to Arthur’s neck.

Eames’ hand slipped down his back, dipping underneath his waistband. Fingertips brushed his ass, a finger rubbing up and down his crack. Arthur gasped, rocking his hips back. “Fuck, I want you,” Eames said, his eyes dilated.

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed. “I want you to fuck me.”

Eames made a little wounded noise in the back of his throat. His hips bucked against Arthur’s. “Want to take you back to mine, darling, but I doubt either of us’ll make it that far.”

Arthur rolled his hips against Eames, gasping as their cocks rubbed together perfectly. “Now, let’s do it now. Come on, no one’ll care.” Arthur throws his head back, hips moving shamelessly with the beat. His friends say he doesn’t have enough fun or take enough chances—it’s the reason he got dragged out tonight. They say that because they’ve never seen him desperate to get off.

Eames stuttered out a shaky laugh. “God, Arthur. Yeah.” The bass hit hard and his hips swiveled into Arthur’s crotch.

They both groaned, their bodies falling into rhythm. Arthur breathed Eames in, the smell of sweat and paint and sex. Eames grabbed his ass and pulled him higher up his muscular thigh. “Fuck,” Arthur muttered, riding harder as the thigh under his cock flexed.

The music throbbed and the crowd heaved. The air was thick and heavy, hard to breathe. Arthur gasped, trying to suck in air that wasn’t saturated with sweat and fumes.

Eames rocked against him, head falling against his shoulder. Arthur licked at his throat, tasting the salty chemical tang. His fingers trailed over Eames’ bare chest, catching on hair and drying paint.

“You’re gorgeous,” Eames said and his hand insinuates itself between their bodies, palming Arthur’s cock.

Arthur whimpered and his hips stuttered. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he managed to reply.

Eames laughed and caught his lips again again, a hot wet kiss. Arthur pulled back, unable to kiss anymore; breathless and slack-jawed.

Their hips rock, thigh flexing. Eames’ skin is damp and hard against Arthur’s. The crush of bodies around them is like an embrace. Sweat breaks out on Arthur’s flushing skin, making paint run. His eyes watered as he started to shake apart with need.

Eames stiffened, coming with a snarled groan. Arthur caught his breath at the splash of heat against his own cock. Eames gave a huff of laughter and pressed a kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth, rubbing his hand harder against Arthur’s crotch. Arthur’s back arched, Eames’ hand pressed in the dip of his spine.

Arthur was practically vibrating with tension. He could feel the beat of the music in his bones, in the base of his cock. He wanted to come so badly. “Please,” he moaned.

“Arthur,” Eames answered and gripped him tighter.

Arthur came, splattering himself with white.

Eames grinned, pressing their foreheads together. He dragged a finger down Arthur’s chest, swirling through rapidly drying paint. “Do you want to get out of here, Arthur darling?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said breathlessly. “Wait, wait. I should tell Ariadne…”

Eames laughed. “Trust me. She knows.”

“Oh.” Arthur grinned. “Well, then. You should take me back to your place and fuck me like I deserve.”

“Arthur,” Eames said, his voice dark and ruined. He took Arthur’s hand, finger painting new intentions on his palm. “I will.”


End file.
